Something So Primal
by et-tu-lj
Summary: Tony wakes to rage: a soul-shaking roar that overloads his suit and jolts him back into life. He's never seen something so primal. But can he reconcile the beast with the ordinary man who now walks beside him? Tony, Bruce, Natasha, Clint. Could be friendship or pre-slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Stand alone scene, but it may turn into a longer fic, particularly with encouragement. Could be a friendship fic, could lead to Tony/Bruce. If you enjoy it, please review to share your opinion and let me know if you'd like to see more. Alerts will inform you if it changes to a work-in-progress.

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Tony woke to rage: a soul-shaking roar that overloaded his suit and jolted him back into life. Tony jerked, coming back, and stared up into the giant green face. He could still see Bruce there, in the set of the eyes, but the fury was all Hulk. Hulk bared his teeth, savage, and he'd never seen something so primal. Even in his suit, Tony would never be that impressive.

But the snark took only a few seconds to kick in, and Tony was in control again. The suit was finished, but he could build a better one. They had won.

/ / /

"He saved you, you know." Natasha had hung back, helping him pry off his twisted metal armor, while the others moved on. She didn't look up from the rubble-strewn street, but he could see amusement in the twist of her lips. "Caught you in free fall and bore you to the ground."

Tony frowned. He didn't remember falling. Only the drift through cold space and the empty drone of a failed call. "We all saved each other."

She smiled, and something in her expression made him shut up. Her eyes narrowed, tracking movement behind him, and he turned to see. Bruce Banner, newly clothed and self-conscious, in his human skin.

"You owe him a debt."

For once, Tony didn't have a comeback. This pleased Natasha, and her lips twisted into a smirk with a secret behind it. "Even debts you've forgotten must be repaid." Her white teeth flashed, and she was gone, hopping over the wreckage of a city's salvation as nimbly as an acrobat. Tony stood staring after her, trying to puzzle out her meaning.

"Guess we go our separate ways then."

Resignation, in Bruce's voice. "Not yet," Tony said, though he hadn't thought of what came after.

"No?" Bruce gave him a skeptical look, a wry smile playing across his now human features. But Tony understood defense mechanisms well enough to see through the smile to the bone-deep loneliness beneath. How long had Bruce been on his own now? In distant countries, where no one spoke his language and no one could find him. Moving on when anyone showed interest.

"No," he said firmly. "Not yet." Hope shined in Bruce's eyes, and something tightened in his own chest. Tony knew loneliness. A billion adoring fans couldn't quench the need inside, and even Pepper sometimes wasn't enough. Bruce had no one. "Didn't I say there'd be shawarma first?"

Bruce grinned, accepting, but it didn't quite seem to click. He was just happy not to be left behind. Of course, Tony thought. He'd been green.

"Let's see what they've done with Loki."

He cuffed the other man on the arm. As they headed back, Tony tried to reconcile the perfectly ordinary man beside him with the creature he'd become. Clearly, Bruce didn't quite have the details of what happened while he was Hulk. But Tony had fought alongside him. He'd been in control. That power had been directed, focused on enemies and the needs of battle. Tony had seen the intelligence in his eyes.

But Tony had seen the tapes too. On the carrier, he'd lost control. He'd hulked out and smashed through the ship. Mindless, absolute ferocity, that left even Natasha shaking in a corner. Tony wished he'd been there. The idea of such unbridled rage made adrenaline sing in his veins.

The difference was intention, Tony thought, but had no way to test the theory. In this battle, Bruce's transformation was an act of will. He'd made a choice. On the Helicarrier, he'd had none.

"Where'd you get the clothes?" he asked suddenly. That mystery, at least, he could solve.

Bruce looked down. He stared at the black dress shirt as if he'd forgotten it altogether. He smoothed the fabric down self-consciously. "In all the chaos, there may have been a bit of looting," he admitted.

Tony snorted. "You did save the city. I think they can afford a thank you gift."

Bruce ran a finger under the collar, adjusting the stiff linen, though it seemed to fit fine.

"Well, we saved the city. I saved it, really, with the whole nuclear strike thing. When you look at it objectively."

Bruce was getting used to his skin again, Tony realized. Like he'd done with the arc reactor. The body changed in an instant but the mind needed time to adjust.

"You saved the whole city?"

"Well, you helped some," Tony admitted. "Maybe 12% of the saving."

"So enough for a shirt, then." Bruce was chuckling now, and he'd stopped tugging at his clothes. "And some pants."

"At least that, yes. Probably not enough for a belt."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note**: Apparently this is going to be a longer fic. I'm going to deviate from my normal procedure of finishing the story first and instead, post as I write. So review for the chance to influence the way the story proceeds, or just encourage it to get written. This story will include Pepper, though it focuses on Tony and Bruce. I won't decide whether the slash element will be absent, one-sided, or eventually requited until I see where the characters take it. Clint and Natasha will likely play a role as well. Because I'll be posting as I write, there won't be an established posting schedule, so follow the story to receive notifications. Thanks to everyone who read, favorited, or reviewed the first chapter - the overwhelming response made me decide to pursue this story further!

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Bruce Banner was exhausted. The other guy was gone, forced back to simmering potential, but it was his body that had to deal with the aftershocks. Fatigue dragged at him, and even the task of lifting his hand seem impossible. Everything ached, from his back all the way down to his toes.

Usually, he passed out. Slept for hours until his body had time to catch up.

Today, he'd just shifted back.

He couldn't explain the anomaly. So instead, Bruce concentrated on the shawarma. One bite after another, focusing on the effort of chewing and swallowing when even his throat muscles ached. He needed food, even if he was too tired to feel it.

Slowly, his system evened out. He could think again, and began to catalogue the damage. He'd let the thing inside out, twice. Bruce grimaced, looking around the table. Even though he'd known it couldn't last, he liked these people. He'd stayed long enough to think of them as friends. Now? They'd seen firsthand what he really was. Now he would lose them too.

Natasha faced him as she ate, watching him over mouthfuls of lamb. Exhaustion slumped her over her meal, but her eyes jumped back to him if he moved. Edgy, like in Calcutta. She'd projected calmness then too, but drawn her gun at the first test. And he'd heard her fear, as he lost control and his world went green. Bruce searched the dark eyes, wondering. Did she hate him for exposing the cracks in her carefully-constructed calm?

Barton shifted, scraping his chair across the floor, and propped his leg up on Natasha's chair. Her eyes flicked down to the movement. Just for a second, but Bruce saw some of the tension slip from her shoulders. When she resumed her watch, it was Bruce who looked away.

As for Barton himself, Bruce hadn't formed an opinion yet. He knew the face from the recognition search, but the man had still been an enemy when he'd lost control. But the careless way Barton dropped into a chair next to him suggested he didn't fear him. Barely registered him, in fact. The man's whole being focused on Natasha, blocking everything else out. Possessive, Bruce had thought at first, but further observation disproved the hypothesis. Barton was too locked in his own thoughts for jealousy. There didn't seem to be a claim between them, only an understanding. She anchored him, as he pulled himself back from wherever Loki had trapped him.

Across from him, Thor and Steve were strangers still. They were already retreating to their separate worlds. Beings of other worlds, other times, yet only one of them could go home. Bruce took another bite, resisting the twinge of sympathy. He'd already lost enough digging into Steve's condition. He wouldn't be involved again.

And last of all: Tony, silent. Bruce snuck a look to his right, checking.

He'd spent hours listening to Tony as they worked, the sound of his voice layered over keyboard taps and humming electronics. Tony spouted ideas and wisecracks in equal measure, a freeform flow that frequently made Bruce's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. To him, science was an equation to be solved, but Tony made it feel like poetry. It shocked Bruce how easily the two of them fell into rhythm.

Now, Tony's silence unnerved him. He'd gotten used to the running commentary, which had irritated him at first. Bruce frowned, realizing that he was going to miss it. Miss all of them, he supposed, but miss being a part of a team most of all. In the lab, he'd felt in sync. Sliding data screens back and forth between monitors. Thinking aloud, as they let a theory build between them. It had been so easy, so natural. Until Tony pushed the screens aside and faced him through the clear display of a monitor. Bruce was caught, trapped between the creeping horror of his condition and Tony's obvious fascination with it. But there was a connection between them, something real and terrifying. So he tried. He wanted this man to understand him.

But then, he'd lost control. Bruce had only confused images of bent metal and spinning sky. He remembered the hiss of steam and the scream of tearing metal. Then he woke alone, and felt sorrow seep into him. He'd ruined everything.

Bruce crumpled up the empty wrapper and stood, tossing the remains of his food into the trash. He'd stay long enough to see Loki off, and then it was time for a new place. A sense of futility swamped him, as he thought of starting over yet again. But he had no choice. Saving the world hadn't changed anything.

There would be no tour of Stark Tower. Only the battle, and the walking away.


	3. Chapter 3

More than food, sleep, a woman or a drink, Tony Stark wanted a shower.

At the shawarma joint, he'd washed off the worst of it in the tiny restroom. The air stank of disinfectant and the pipes whined in the wall, but the water worked. That was all that mattered. Tony stuck his head under the faucet and let water run down through his hair and across his face. Brown, black and red swirled down the drain as grit sluiced off him. His thoughts were just as muddy, and it took a long time to run clean. When he realized only a thin thread of red remained, he shut off the tap. Tony scrubbed both hands through his hair. Droplets splashed across the mirror, where a stranger's face stared back at him. The thin ring of blue through the T-shirt was right; the face was gaunt and unfamiliar.

Now, all Tony wanted was to go home and wash away that sense of wrongness. Let Blondie stay and deal with his kid brother. He was done.

"It's been grand, Captain," he said, "but I'm off babysitting duty."

Steve frowned and Tony frowned right back. He sent the crumpled wrapper whizzing past Steve's head: three points, straight into the trash. Steve didn't blink.

"You'll report back first. Mission's not over till after the debriefing."

Irritation flashed through him, hot as a suit overload. "I don't debrief on the first date, fly boy. Hold them off till tomorrow."

Natasha huffed out a breath, pulling his attention away from Steve. He flashed her his best playboy grin and winked. She rolled her eyes.

"Enough," she said to Steve, touching him lightly on the shoulder. "Let it go for now."

After a moment, Steve nodded and let the subject drop.

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him and went to the window. "He means well, Tony," she said, when he joined her.

Outside the restaurant, Bruce was studying the wreckage of the city street. He seemed calm, but he held himself ready. Facing a threat. Tony tensed too, instinctively.

"I know," he said. "And I'll let them fill out their forms. But not yet."

Bruce shifted, and Tony saw Clint beside him. The big man hadn't learned to trust Clint yet, but Tony's instincts told him he could. His own tension eased slightly, and he went back to watching Bruce.

Bruce fascinated him. The contrast between cool exterior and electric mind intrigued him, and he had to admit he enjoyed trying to crack through that outward calm. Bruce Banner hid so much beneath the surface. Not just the rage monster, but an entire web of quiet insecurities and subtle emotions.

"What comes next, Tony?" Natasha asked.

Tony looked over, and found her watching him with speculation. He shifted uneasily. He was used to the whole world watching him, but he got the feeling her dark eyes saw too much.

"Home, and a night off," he said, ignoring the real question. The rest would have to wait.


End file.
